Enemies
by Timmy2222
Summary: Young Agent Mulder is called to a hostage situation at a hotel. He knows the hostagetakers so he is the chosen negotiator, but things get out of hand. Remaining chapters added 062105. The story is COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

**Classification**: Pre X-Files, Mulder works for the BSU; MT

**Rating:** R (violence/language)

**Spoilers:** 'Grotesque', but just for the character of Patterson, not the story.

**Disclaimer:** All right, I don't own Mulder and Patterson. They belong to CC and 1013 Productions. So I just borrow and will put back later.

The rest of the characters belong to my vivid imagination.

**Summary**: Young Agent Mulder is called to a hostage situation at a hotel. He knows the hostage-takers so he is the chosen negotiator, but things get out of hand.

Feedback of any kind; - thoughtful insight, and remarks, yes, please, to Timmy2222web.de

Virginia State Prison, Visitor's Room 

**W**ell, my name's Mac - Mike McIntyre. It's an Irish name. My grandpa came here when he was young. Well, you might've heard my name if you're a policeman or with the FBI, maybe. Won't say I'm famous or anything, but I got a kind of reputation, y'know. My bro JD - that's for Joshua Daniel - and me have done, uh, some things, you might say, that are illegal. Yeh, right, not with the law, but against it. Bank robberies and, huh, kind of kidnapping to make our way out. Worked, I can tell ya. Worked pretty damn well. You wanna hear a story? That's why you came, right? Got something to smoke? Fine, thanks. Lemme tell ya a real good story. Not the usual soft stuff you're used to. Something that you won't forget by the next morning. A story 'bout some people in charge and some that are not. Wanna listen? Good cigarette, by the way. Hadn't had one for a while. - Yeah, the story. Promise to listen, 'kay?

It all starts on a Friday hassle. People running around trying to get everything fixed for the weekend. Nobody's really looking at each other, y'know. That's perfect. Well, for us. The hotel is one of the biggest in town, the 'Regency'. Expensive chairs and carpets right when you enter. Pretty weird. JD and me are in our glad rags. We don't wanna get too much attention. Not yet, anyway. We enter the lobby, stern-faced. A bell hop looks at us, but he isn't suspicious. He's just… curious, maybe. He doesn't ask a question when we enter the lift and tell him to drive upward. The best suite in the house, of course. I've taken off my beard to look so normal that nobody looks at me at all. That's funny, y'know. JD feels a little uneasy, fiddles around with his collar. I think he has never worn a tie till today. But it all adds up. We get on the top floor, and even the guards don't look suspicious. There's only two suites on the floor, so shouldn't they wonder what we're doing there? But it's Friday, and maybe they just think about their wives or girl-friends or whatever. And when I pull my gun to shoot the first man - silencer's a fine thing, I can tell ya - he just topples over. No sound. JD does the same with the second guard. Right on time. He's fine with the gun, and he grins and gives a thumbs-up. We've worked together since he has turned eighteen. Now he's twenty-three, and we both haven't been caught yet.

Hey, isn't that incredible? Got another smoke for me, Mr. Reporter? Thanks. And I'll need a cup of water or something. A beer would be better, but I don't have any left, ha. Yeah, fine, whatever.

Okay, guards down, we jump into the suite, bark something like "Down on the floor, now! Nobody's trying nothin' or I shoot!" Well, it always worked - works this time. The guard inside pulls his gun, but I'm much, much faster. He goes down like a sack of corn. Two ladies scream and drop their papers. But they all obey; no shooting necessary. See, we don't shoot for fun, y'know? Only when threatened. - Well, most of the time. The two women drop on the floor, a young man with a moustache, too, and the other man, that one we came for, looks at us, says, "How dare you to enter this room! Where are the guards?" and I scream, "Hey, man, you fall dawn on that damned floor, or I shoot you to drop, got it?" He gets on his knees, hands in the air, then lies down. He's frightened and will piss his pants any moment now. Fine. Absolutely fine. JD smiles from one ear to the other and whirls his gun around like a cowboy on TV. I shake my head: No. No time for games. He nods, puts the gun away and pulls the duct tape we brought from under his jacket, wraps our hostages' wrists for good and checks if the guards are dead. Well, yes they are. Dead as doornails. Yes, I do agree that it's not really necessary to kill, but the others, y'know, the others obey much faster when you do that. We pull the dead body outside and safe the guards' guns and handcuffs. The walkie-talkie crackles with a static sound, then a man asks to confirm everything's okay, but there won't be an answer. Sure as hell the police will be informed and all other stations which might get involved. I just smile.

A third man stands at the window. He's wearing a grey well-tailored suit and looks at us admiringly. Well, he's the third in our party this time. I haven't worked with him before, but his reputation, say, that is what I heard about him from others, told me everything I needed to know. His name's Gin - like Gin and Tonic - and he's quite somebody, I can tell ya. I didn't even want to know how he could get so close to the senator and his party. I really don't. Maybe he faked some ID or something like that. He's brilliant. Fucking brilliant. And he chose us, you see, not vice versa. **He** wanted to work with us. He knows we're professionals. And very, very good.

Now, JD's ready. He smiles at Senator Burne from Florida like he's a big trophy, but the senator doesn't smile back. He looks frightened, but angry, too. I know how he must feel. No, not that I had been in such a situation before, but it's easy to understand that he's really pissed off. He's the loser today. Until now he might have been a mighty man, a power man, but now he's running out of luck. You get it? He can't do anything. He must do what I say. We made a good plan -- you'll see. We did this like choreographing a dance. And this was just the opening.

I pick up the phone. I'm kind of surprised nobody has noticed yet that there's trouble up here. I dial the lobby and tell them that we have Senator Burne at our mercy. Deep voice and threat are all I can put into this sentence. I can almost hear the man on the other side swallow. Yeah, now we have some attention. I don't say my name or how many we are. Better they don't know. I just say that we kill everyone who gets close to the suite door. When JD and me first robbed a bank we were no-names. Nobody had ever seen our faces before. That was the real fun. Now - yeah, reputation, I know, I said that. But it takes the fun out of it, don't ya think? He'll call the police, then the FBI will show up. I know the procedure. They'll ask the bell hop what he saw, and he'll give them our description. Then they know it's Mac and JD, and they won't take that lightly, I know. But I have all our demands memorized. This will work smooth and easy.

-------- --------

Closing the door of my service car I give a final, sighing look to the video tapes I rented for the weekend, and some magazines I haven't finished reading yet. Well, I won't till this 'situation', as Patterson has called it, is over. He sounded stressed on the phone, so I am all ears entering the lobby and being led to him. The hotel is silently evacuated. A lot of policemen with serious faces escort men and women out. Some hotel guests are protesting. They wanted to enjoy a nice weekend - just like me - and now they are confronted with a hostage situation at their hotel.

Patterson welcomes me with a handshake, saying,

"Nice of you to drop by. You profiled them, so I thought you might want to add some insight to the case." He hands me the few pages with the testimony of the bell hop and two other personnel. "We're quite sure it's the McIntyre brothers. They changed their looks a little, but by the way of working and the description, I'm quite convinced."

'The way of working?' I think. 'They've robbed banks up to now.' "Just the two?" I ask looking up. He nods. "Who was with the senator at that moment?" A second man steps forward - Dark blue business suit, black shining shoes, big hands, broad, shaved face and short cropped hair. I can almost smell his authority, punctuated by the gun under his left shoulder. Secret Service, Washington's own police for the political high society. I sigh inwardly. Many of them give themselves airs, but lack professionalism. I hope this guy doesn't add up to my prejudices.

"Hi, my name's Brendan Moore. I'm the senator's chief of security. I'll help you with the information you need about Senator Burne." We shake hands, and he adds, "The senator travels with his wife, Marybeth, eldest daughter, Janie, his secretary, Melinda Robertson, and a student of political science, his name's…" He fetches his note book from the inside of his jacket, and I keep another sigh in me. Just a show, I feel it. "Barney Holden." He flips a page. "Ah, yes, a week ago, the senator's wife introduced another man to the staff, Herbert Stanley."

"You got all these people checked out?" I ask and am rewarded with a look that could pin me to the wall with a bowie. I hold his stare unwaveringly.

"Of course, we check everyone, who gets near the senator or his family."

"Within a week?"

"We have known Mr. Stanley before. He has a reputation in political science and media research. No crimes, not even a ticket for wrong parking, if you know what I mean." He is so proud of his statement he doesn't notice Patterson rolling his eyes heavenward. I retain my smile.

"Fine. So we have six hostages and Mike and JD holding them in check. - Have there been any demands yet?" I ask Patterson.

"Not really. Only one call telling the front desk that they have the senator in the suite and will shoot everyone who gets close. Then a second one for ten big packages of cornflakes and a five gallon can of water. Nothing more." He shrugs. "We are waiting." I put down the papers on a small table in the conference room. Still looking down I begin to knead my lower lip. I know it's a habit I should quit, but can't. Every time I'm in thoughts I start it. "Okay, Mulder, what is it?"

"Just thinking - it's different from what they've done up to now."

"Well, cracking a mould, don't you think?" Mr. Moore says, shrugging.

"Until now they went into banks, made their demands, and got away with the money and one or two hostages who were released more dead than alive later on. This -- is different. They went in here knowing this would be a hostage situation from the beginning. Including negotiations with the police, FBI, etcetera. And they have to think of a way out. It's fifteenth floor, not the basement."

Patterson nods in agreement.

"Any ideas about the cornflakes?"

"A snack maybe?" Mr. Moore weighs his head and I see a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "It's late afternoon."

"Ten packages? Big ones?" I shake my head. "No, they're up to something." I knead my lip again. I know the brothers just by the way they worked in the banks. They are aggressive, ruthless, decisive and always ended the robberies successfully. No chance capturing them without risking the lives of the hostages. They know the police won't shoot till there's no chance of saving the people they had taken with them. They killed five guards in the banks, shot down two police officers, who survived, and injured several hostages severely, but all of them are still alive. What would they want with a senator and his party? "Did anyone check on the floor?"

"Yes, sure. Three dead guards in front of the door. My men didn't get any closer. No risks, you know."

"Right, no risks." It sounds strange to me. I know it's policy to avoid a forceful entrance, but wouldn't it be easier to make a run on that suite right now rather than wait until they have settled everything to their demands? After all, it's only two men. The FBI has specially trained personnel to shoot aggressors on sight. "What's the senator worth?" It's an unwanted question, and I expected the angry looks.

"He's a rich man, if you mean that", Mr. Moore says defensively.

"So a ransom would be higher than what they could get in a robbery?"

Mr. Moore swallows. Seems that he hadn't yet thought about this possibility of paying and letting the kidnappers get away with it. I know better.

"Yes, they could demand two million dollars, and it would be possible - within a certain amount of time."

"All right, that's what they know. Obviously. They could have accessed that information easily?"

"All politicians have to publish their financial situation before they can become a candidate for their party." It's a lesson in politics, and I take it with a simple nod. Yes, I should know that. But up to now I was up to my ears in profiling, and not in the rules of politics.

"Okay, they know about his wealth and think it's easier to get that money than robbing three or four more banks. Now they have to think of the details - firstly, where is an attack possible? Secondly, how can they get close? Thirdly, the moment they enter the suite, they cage themselves in. They have to know how to get out while all policemen in Washington want them dead. Fourthly, how much time do they plan? A day? A weekend? More? Lastly, they don't only take the senator, but have the luck to have his whole family under control. They could have already killed them all - if they didn't do what they demanded", I add in direction of Mr. Moore, who squirms with uneasiness. "Or they have to think of feeding them and keeping them under control all the time. That's a lot of stress - much more than they have taken up until now."

"They had twenty hostages in that bank in Norfolk", Patterson says, checking the file we have about the brothers. I agree with that, but object,

"For two hours, yes. Police knew that the McIntyre brothers wouldn't deal with them or negotiate in any way. They allowed them to leave with two hostages, so no one was shot in this case." My boss flips a page. I have worked on the profiles for quite a while so I think I can read the pages from where I stand. Mike had always kept the hostages in check while JD collected the money. Then Mike had made the phone call with the demands how to get away, and then they left. Their escape routes had been planned to the minute, so the police had had no chance to follow them even after they had dropped the hostages. I am convinced they will take the senator and his wife or daughter with them to make sure their escape works this time, too. But this situation won't be over in two hours.

-------- --------

Gin leans against the wall near the window and gently pulls aside the closed drapery to check. From where I stand, with a cigarette in hand, I can see his profile. He looks a little bit like Jeremy Irons, y'know, the actor from 'Die Hard 3'. He's quite tall and well-muscled, but not as broad as I am, see? Yeah, I do a lot to keep me in shape. Lots of workout. Gin seems to have a kind of, say, natural strength. He's in his forties - I guess, 'cause he wouldn't say, and I didn't ask. He came to our hiding place half a year ago and showed us what he was thinking about. JD jumped on it firsthand, but I was skeptic. Didn't know him. Wanted to ask some friends, and when they said, he's okay, I agreed to work with him. He had already made plans, and we just had to add some details. Not that we were short of money or anything, but it sounded… well, a thrill, a kick. Not to mention kicking ass and getting away with a truckload of money. Gin said we'd get the time-table as soon as he has all the information about the senator. He didn't say what else he would do to run this operation, but we were satisfied with what he told us.

Now he glances back at the hostages. We've been here for an hour now, and I think the police are getting nervous. Yeah, I think they bite their nails to find out what we're up to. I heard something on the floor some minutes ago. Probably special squad people. Gin had heard them, too, and smiled. The suite has thick walls, so no one will drive a hole through one of them to peek on us. They won't know if the hostages are already dead. Well, no, don't think we like killing. Unless any one of them makes a false move, we'll let them live, promise. Got another cig for me? Thanks.

Yeh, I was talking about Gin. He is absolutely calm. Perfect. The senator had accused him of being a liar, but Gin had only smiled. He is way above all of us- so unlike JD, who can't hold his temper. I keep him away from the hostages - don't want him to freak out and hit someone. He keeps them in check. That's fine. Gin eyes him from time to time, and I think JD will get in trouble if he does anything that Gin doesn't want. We play to the rules. Everyone has his part to fulfill. That's what we're up to. Fulfill the parts, collect the money and leave. I stub my cigarette in the big glass ashtray that stands on the desk. Gin sees it. When he smokes, he collects the butts in his pocket ashtray to leave nothing behind. Well, he's a clever guy, maybe never got caught or was even noticed by the police. I don't need these precautions - the FBI knows who I am. So what the heck? Gin pours himself some water from the can. We delivered some water to the hostages, too. We're no monsters.

The senator uses the minute to talk to me, saying,

"You can still end this in peace. You can deliver yourself to the police, and I'll tell them you treated us fair. This would be the best solution, believe me. You can't escape. The police will catch you for sure."

I point my gun to his face.

"Shut up, old man! You pay, we leave - no one catches us. No one ever does."

He flinched, but obeyed. Good for him. His wife sits beside him, holding tight to his right arm. Their daughter sits on the other side, hardly looking at me. She's scared shitless, oh yeah. The elder woman is keeping her head up. I don't think she expects to be killed, but fears for her husband. That's okay, as long as she doesn't try any tricks on us. Women can be so tricky! One moment you think they're making eyes at you, the next moment they play tennis with your balls. I've been through this, I know the rules. So I stay away from them. When the secretary, a chestnut-haired woman with a breathtaking figure, stands up to be led to the ladies room, Gin accompanies her, not even smiling or giving a sign that he's impressed by what he sees. I could fall on her right on the spot, right in front of the others. That would be fun. But I know it's not in our rules, and we don't need no distraction from our plan. And this would be a distraction…

Gin comes back, the woman sits down again with the others on the empty space between the wall and the mighty desk that is enthroned in the middle of the big room. Gin glances at his watch, and softly says,

"It's time for the next call." He hands me the phone. I take it gladly.

"It's the senator's suite," I say to the man on the other side of the line. "Here's our list of demands."

-------- -------- --------

"This is Mulder with the FBI," I say, and know by the voice it's McIntyre Senior answering me.

"Welcome to the show, Mr. Mulder." I can hear his glee. He's in charge, and he's enjoying it. He's confident to get away as in all other cases. "I'll make this short, so you understand, young boy. You know we won't negotiate, and if you don't fulfill our demands within five hours, we'll start killing the hostages one by the hour, starting with the senator's daughter." There's a female scream, "No!" from the background. Thanks to that I know he's not lying - not at the moment. "You heard that her mother won't be pleased with that. We demand three million dollars in unmarked fifty dollar notes, in two black leather suitcases. Plus, six black raincoats with hoods, four black leather suitcases the same as the first one, and a helicopter to take us to the rooftop entrance exactly after the money is delivered. Some sandwiches would be nice, too." So damn secure! So damn, fucking self-confident! "You got that, Mr. Mulder?"

"I heard you, Mister. You know that it is impossible to get the money in this short time," I say according to the rules of negotiating, and, of course, Mike laughs.

"You'll be on the fucking button, or you collect some more dead bodies."

"Okay, I got that." And I gnaw on my lower lip, about to add that he should let a hostage go as a sign of good will, but I don't say it. He won't do it. "Are the hostages okay, or did you harm anyone? Is a doctor needed?"

"You think I'd tell? But, I can assure you, at the moment, they're all happy campers. Bring up the sandwiches first, okay?" He hangs up, and I slowly put back the receiver, and turn around to Patterson. "I need the recordings of the bank robberies. All of them. I don't know what, but something's wrong here." Mr. Moore gives me a puzzled look while my boss is on the phone already.

"Wrong?" Moore repeats. "Sure, we have a really wrong situation, and you think about listening to old tapes?"

"These tapes could hold the key to what's happening here. Look, I profiled them, and up to this very day, they haven't been in a kidnapping like this. So the question is, what has occurred to them to make Mike behave like he's holding all the cards?" I point to the phone, and I know I sound impatient. The McIntyres have been predictive to a certain point. That's why the bank robbery in Norfolk took place without anyone being killed.

"All mouth and no trousers?" Moore offers, taking a cup of coffee from his sidekick, looking the same stern face with nothing behind it. I wonder how these two men could get into this special service.Favouritism, this and that…

"No, I don't think so. McIntyre was almost steaming with glee. I heard confidence before, but this was more than that. And, by the way, the brothers have robbed banks for three years now, and the police have not been able to catch them. They are all mouth and trousers, Mr. Moore." I know I shouldn't add this, and he shoots me with his look again, but I can't help it. I would like to show him the door, but with a senator's life at stake, the secret service won't bail out.

"So they know more than we do," he nods after a sip of coffee. "My men have been up there again. Cornflakes've been used to cover the ground around the entrance door. No one gets near without being heard." 'Nice trick,' I think, but at the same time wonder again if this could have been his idea. Has he studied some old hostage situations? Met with someone, who was released a short while ago?

"Sir, could we check on all inmates related to cases of kidnapping in public places, who were set free within the last, say, ten months?" Patterson looks at me quizzically. There's almost a smile on his face. He appreciates my way of thinking, though he wouldn't say a word about it. It's like a strange game he plays with me all the time. He let me come to a conclusion, then tells me afterwards if I had been on the right or wrong track. And I always find out that he had been two steps ahead. At least. His books on criminal science are standard lecture in Quantico, and I can call myself lucky to be in his unit. But he demands much from a young agent like me. Now he nods and signals that this is already in process. I smirk. Sure. What could I have expected? I'm no match for him.

He's on the telephone again, asking the hotel kitchen to prepare sandwiches, and orders another agent to bring them up.

"We'll at least get a glimpse of what's happening," he says in his low voice.

Restlessly I reach for my own, now cold, coffee. The chief of the FBI special squad, Jack Hastings, is back again. "Got an idea to get in without being seen?" I ask, but don't hold my breath. He shakes his head, and uses his fingers to sum up.

"One: Walls are thick. We can't get anything in. Two: No house opposite, so no binoculars and no snipers can be used. What we got from the copter was nothing more than closed drapes." He sighs. "Three: Doors are solid, too. Not easy to break in. They'd have time to kill at least two people before we catch 'em. Four: The shafts of the air-conditioning have built-in detectors. I don't know who put them in, but they'll tell them in the suite that we're coming." He scratches his forehead under the helmet. "This is why suites are built like this - to avoid any threat. - I just wonder how they could kill the guards so easily." A quick glance to Mr. Moore, who takes the ball like a good quarterback.

"My men must have been deceived. They were on alert."

"'Kay," the squad chief answers, holding up his hand to stop further comments. "If they were on alert, as you say, they'd have raised their guns the moment the lift doors opened, right? But the two attackers shot them flat with one bullet each. No shots were fired by your men, Mister…"

"Moore."

"Fine. Mr. Moore. Your people died on the spot." Hastings glances at me again. "The third man also. He was the guard inside, right?"

"Right." Mr. Moore has his defensive 'I'm gonna shoot you' - look on again. "I'm sure he did what he could."

"Probably." The squad chief isn't convinced. "But someone opened the lock from the inside," he adds, and again, there is a look in his eyes that he doesn't believe the 'in alert' story. "As if they expected someone to come, I think." He turns to me again. "So, here's the situation as I see it. We can go in, blow the door, but risk at least two lives. Any threat of a bomb?" I shake my head no. "Good. Quite a relief. I'dhave thought we'd find the building under another address then." A small smirk, which I return. "Tell me what's happening next."

"They demand money in suitcases, raincoats with hoods, and a copter on the roof."

Hastings breathes deeply, and smacks his lips.

"A red herring or for real?"

"I asked myself the same question. The helicopter's real, I suppose. They need transportation from here to wherever. As far as I know the McIntyre brothers, they have planned their escape route meticulously." That makes me think of another lead to follow. I turn to Patterson, who just put down the receiver. "Sir, it's possible they parked a car or truck somewhere near a landing field or meadow near Washington." He nods and turns to the fax machine, where a sheet of paper comes through slowly.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, a place wide enough to serve as a landing spot to change means of transportation." He takes out the paper and hands it to me. "Your list of released prisoners and their whereabouts as far as it was possible to track."

"Thank you, sir. Considering their robberies, the escape always included two or more sedans or pick-up trucks, always stolen within seventy-two hours before the crime." I quickly check the list, but can't find a familiar name. I hadn't expected to anyway. I look up again. "We got a map here?" A young assistant reacts on my request and rolls out the map of Washington's adjoining states. "We have to check all possibilities where the copter can land and compare the cars parked at the sites to the list of registered stolen cars during the last week." The assistant takes down my request and quickly moves to a telephone. This will be a list even longer than that of the prisoners. I take more time for a second check. I have butterflies in my stomach. If the McIntyres gained information from a known kidnapper it could turn out far more dangerous for the hostages than I had thought.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"That G-man just took it," I tell Gin, and can't help smiling broadly. "Swallowed it whole and all." He reacts as stone-cold as before. A nod. And another cigarette butt is put into his pocket ashtray.

"No question to release a hostage? No question to talk to the senator?"

"Nope. They know JD and me. We never negotiate. Didn't you hear about our Norfolk operation?" I let him wait for a second. "We got away with three hundred K in two hours!" I nod to myself and in JD's direction. "They knew they could only save their sorry asses by letting us go."

"Five hours." Gin glances at his watch again, takes another sip of water. He obviously is not impressed. I don't like that, but I think it's because he already knows what we are capable of.

We hear the crushing of cornflakes outside. Immediately we raise our guns. JD swallows. He knows as well as we do that every time it could be the special squad, but I don't think that they'll risk the life of a senator, that here is safer than any robbery we did before, I can tell ya. So, I'm about to order the secretary up - would be such a nice sight; her hands bound and her frightened looks! - when Gin intervenes. "I'll take it." He hands me his gun, and I tuck it away. I don't understand, and his look means I'm a brick short of a load. Yeah, right, for the first time we don't agree, but I let him have what he wants. He smiles a little to make up for the look, but I got the message!

"No one says a word!" JD tells the hostages firmly. "Or I'll be happy to shoot!" They believe him. He got that look in his face that even I do believe him.

Gin nods to me.

"Put down the tray and step back!" I yell through the door, then point the gun at Gin's back, before he slowly unlocks the door to open it. He trembles! Wow, what a show, I can tell ya! Outside a man clad in white pants and white T-shirt, but truly from FBI or police, raises his hands and steps back, while Gin slowly, and with a frightened look over his shoulder back to the muzzle of my gun, lowers himself to the floor to pick up the big tray.

"Are you okay?" the man asks. Gin nods a little. "Is anyone hurt?" A headshake. Boy, Gin does this perfectly! "Don't be afraid, sir, we'll solve the situation. Please, remain calm." Gee, what a promise! I have to bite my lip and force that sinister look on my face again. Gin rises, shaking all over. He nods again to the man in white, than comes in backwards, and shoves the door shut with his shoe. Quickly puts down the tray to lock the door again. When he turns to me he wiggles his brow and let me see a real small smile.

"Piece o' cake." He takes the first sandwich from the tray, than shoves it with his foot closer to the waiting hostages. The senator looks at him.

"You're a monster, Mr. Stanley."

Gin bows like taking applause.

"The real Mr. Stanley would be quite disappointed with that opinion about him", he says, with his mouth full.

"You falsified your identity, you lied about your reputation, and now you're the head of these kidnappers!" Burne shakes his head angrily. "What has man come to?"

"Well, sir, I came up to killing the real Mr. Stanley to take his place." The information throws the rest of Mr. Burne's appetite down the drain. "I had to be convincing. And it wouldn't have been a success when the other Mr. Stanley appeared on your doorstep, right?" Gin licks his lips and smiles again, this time about the shocked expression on the faces of the hostages. If our entrance hadn't been enough to scare them all, Gin's confession makes up for it. The sandwiches rest in their hands, but no one eats. I like that. And I like the home-made salad sauce and the turkey on the real good white bread.

-------- -------- --------

"Sir, the search team came up with something." The nice little assistant reaches out over the table to hand me the note she made from a call seconds ago. "Seventy miles from here is a small, deserted landing spot and two parked cars in the near woods. A sedan and a jeep. Both reported stolen the day before yesterday."

I nod a 'thank you' in her direction because my mouth is full. The hotel kitchen served a light dinner for us working here, too, and I hadn't eaten more than breakfast. Enjoying a rye bread sandwich I walk over to Patterson to show him the information. He takes it in with a nod - as usual.

"Good, Agent Mulder. Send a squad out there, but they…"

"…shall stay out of sight," I end for him.

"Yeah. Any luck with the released inmates?"

"Two used to live in Washington. Police are searching for them. Most of the former inmates have been located by now and are being questioned." Another nod. "Sir, I was thinking about the raincoats and additional suitcases."

"Yeah?" He can be intimidating, but I wouldn't be here if he thinks I'm an idiot, so I go on.

"We have six hostages and two hostage-takers. I suppose they'll take some of the hostages with them. And - knowing that police helicopter will watch them, they'll use a disguise so nobody knows who's a hostage or a hostage-taker."

"Right." He empties his coffee mug and walks over to the machine to pour a fresh cup. "So, what do you make out of it?"

"They'll disguise themselves and the hostages. The possible choice will be the senator and his wife or the daughter - maybe another man or woman." I look on the list of photographs with names on the table. "The secretary, Mrs. Robertson, maybe."

"Why the secretary?" Patterson adds sugar to his coffee and stirs with a teaspoon.

"A woman is usually considered a smaller risk - she won't try to escape or fight, and in public opinion she is a weak victim." My boss agrees. Mean, I did my homework. And my head remains on my shoulders. At the moment. "I'm not sure they'd burden themselves with four people." I put the rest of the rye bread on the plate to concentrate again. And knead my lip between thumb and index finger. "Would they do it for distraction or have I missed a reason?"

"Distraction, Agent Mulder. And control again. They'll take four hostages. As you have written, the McIntyres don't do these robberies just for the money. They want the thrill. To my opinion it was only a matter of time until they changed their ways of operation." Oops, here comes the slap in the face. I know it, and Mr. Moore, to my misfortune, knows it, too. "They were too successful with the crimes committed. Now they found something new."

"Sir, the change is…" I break up. Sure, he's right. Who am I to argue? - Though I still feel uneasy about their drastic change of approach. I don't think they are very intelligent. That's the point. But I keep my mouth shut. If Patterson says the brothers put the stakes higher, and that the money is only a secondary motive, I better believe him. The kick is the abduction and the escape. "So you think they'll collect the money, jump on the helicopter with four hostages and fly away?"

"Right. And we can't see who's under the hoods. And it is too risky to only judge be the height of the persons." He sips his coffee and nods to no one specific. "It's a good idea." Looking up again, he adds, "It's only a question of how the goods and the money shall be delivered. By the way, will the money be here in time?"

Mr. Moore breathes deeply.

"Yes, sir, of course. The senator's brother has taken care of it. One of his men will deliver the suitcases in two hours."

"Very well." Patterson slightly nods his head toward the door, and I follow him through the lobby to the squad room. "Commander Hastings?" The man turns to face us. "There will be a delivery of money and everything else that is demanded. I want to know how we can pull the strings to our advantage."

Hastings stubs out his cigarette.

"They will ask one man up. Take one of my men. The moment they open the door, we throw in a smoke bomb, my team moves in, and we take 'em in twenty seconds flat. We rehearsed that before."

Patterson breathes, but doesn't look convinced.

"When one of your men brought up the sandwiches, the elder brother held a weapon straight to the back of the head of the man. I don't think a smoke bomb would light fast enough to avoid a gunfight."

Hastings nods.

"Perhaps, yeah. But if you give them the money it'll be harder to stop them on their way out."

"There are two of them and, if the situation runs as planned, they'll take four hostages with them."

"Sir, maybe this is the distraction," I join in the conversation, but Patterson looks at me like I broke the Holy Grail of his argumentation. "They might only take two - the senator and his wife."

"Well, Agent Mulder, why then should they ask for six raincoats?" His voice is all mockery. The squad team concentrates on me, and I feel sweat on my palms. Just swell, what have I done?

"They want to leave us in the dark about their purposes. They could have asked for ten raincoats." Patterson still stares at me. "All they want might be a big enough helicopter."

"For what reason?"

"Transportation of equipment."

"They won't carry anything besides the money."

He's so sure about everything he says. I'm just the young agent who should be happy to get information from the master of BSU first-hand. 'Well then, behave like a humble servant, right?' But that is something I can't do. I feel like being underwater when I don't speak my mind. I am like this. Sometimes it's like trying to get a square peg through a round hole, but I can't change it.

"Sir, tell me one reason why they would burden themselves with four victims who are much harder to keep under control than only two?"

"Enlarge the number of civilians to get away unidentified." He corrects his glasses on his broad nose. "Again, Agent Mulder, they know that we won't shoot…"

One more crack in the Holy Grail of his speaking: I interrupt him.

"They've never taken more than two hostages onto their escapes. One for each of them to be covered for the time the police chased them. Four people means that they have to go behind them to make sure nobody runs."

Patterson is pissed now. I see his nostrils widen in the flare of fury, and his lips tighten.

"Agent Mulder." Very sincere voice. Very slow. He puts all his weight into the next words. "There has been a change of operation; I think you'll agree on this. They have taken six hostages in a motel room. A senator is among them. They demand ransom. They have to escape via helicopter or won't leave the building. They need every cover they can get to reach the helicopter alive. They are out of their normal way of operation, so don't treat them like this is a bank robbery again, Agent Mulder." With this he turns away from me and speaks to Hastings again.

I feel the heat rising. I have to leave the room. Sure Patterson is right. Isn't he always? But I don't understand that he doesn't even listen to my argument. Even if it's wrong. Now I've insulted him, and he'll kick my ass from one hard stone to the next until this case is over.

Outside I catch a breeze of fresh air. My face feels like fire. I haven't had time yet to earn a reputation as a profiler, and it looks like I won't earn any medals for this one. I close my eyes for a moment, let out the air again. 'Patterson is the senior here, and you're just a greenhorn,' I tell myself, but it doesn't console me. I want to prove to him and me and the rest of the BSU that I can do it. The McIntyre brothers didn't seem to work on complex standards. They found out that some smaller banks lack in security. They found out that taking hostages is a serious threat to the authorities, and that no one wants to risk lives. They never escaped with millions of dollars, but the loot added up. They weren't in need for money so badly they had to kidnap a senator. So why? The explanation of just a kick in their lives feels weak compared with the high risk of being captured. They must know that neither police nor the FBI will handle the murders and the abduction lightly. It's a federal crime. And with their crime records, every agent in the country will search for them.

The thought of 'complex standards' makes my feet walk again. I ask for the hotel manager. He's a small, slender man in his forties, almost bald, and his glasses try to jump from his nose every ten seconds. He pushes them up again every so often. He's nervous; I see his Adam's apple rise and fall when he swallows.

"Who installed the detectors in the air-condition shafts?" I ask him. He looks puzzled. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"There was a man here four weeks ago. He showed us an order signed by the manager on duty - I'm just the deputy - saying that he had to check the shafts on this floor. I signed for it."

"But you don't know what the man did up there?" He shakes his head. "Do you recall what he looked like?"

"Average height and build, nothing specific. He was wearing the uniform of the corporation, so I didn't think about checking him. - Was that a mistake?" he adds anxiously.

"Did he look like one of these?" I show him the picture of Mike and JD McIntyre. He breathes, swallows again, but shakes his head. "Really, I'm not sure. The taller man - maybe, but, no, I can't say. - Is there anything else? I have to…"

"No, sir, thanks for your cooperation." He is eager to get away from me. No clear identification. I put away the pictures, still thinking about the brothers. They had prepared themselves for the robberies by checking the bank's interior, personnel, guards, and possible amount of money. They made one mistake and got away with only $ 12.000. The security transporter had changed routes and collected the money one day earlier than planned.

But would Mike be able to falsify a document and appear in the very hotel he would show up in again four weeks later? I would call this bold. Someone - even a bell hop who is trained to recognize guests - could remember him. And there had been more planning ahead of the crime.

Slowly I walk back to our improvised HQ.

-------- --------

To my surprise, Gin puts a big black leather bag on the desk and opens the zipper.

"When did you bring this in?" I ask him in a low voice. The hostages eye us; I feel their looks concentrate on what's happening. JD forbade them to talk. Now they are more frightened than before, and JD enjoys his power, plays with his weapon like a gunslinger. Gin doesn't approve of this, but hasn't said a word about it.

"Yesterday," Gin says flatly. Anger and arrogance show in his face. "I did all the preparation. You forgot that? Why, do you think, didn't the guards shoot you on sight? - I told them I expected you two. And why won't the FBI try to catch us through the shaft of the air-conditioning? Because I placed silent alarms there four weeks ago!" I clench my teeth, inhale deeply from my cigarette. Right, he's the brains of this whole operation, but he doesn't need to show off like this! I'm slowly burning. JD glances at me as if to say that he could shoot him on my order, but I slightly shake my head. Too much money is at stake, and I don't know how many aces Gin has up his sleeve. I realize that we depend on him -, a thought I hate. But I will work according to the plan. We part after this job and will never meet again. Gin hands me a gas mask after I stub out my cigarette. "You gonna need it." He throws a second one to JD. "Keep it with you. The FBI might try some tricks." JD shrugs and hooks it on his belt. I see the hopes of the senator sink. He still tries to believe the police will free him and his family. I don't see a chance for that. Gin is an asshole, but he's clever. So I keep my mouth shut, drink water, eat the last sandwich and chew while Gin takes out a small rectangular box.

"Another weapon against the police?"

"Smoke bombs." He smirks. "I said we need the masks." I swallow the bite I have in my mouth. He didn't say anything about this before, and it comes to my mind that he told us the least just to get us involved. Boy, I hate this!

"What's your plan?" I ask as polite as I can manage, but have to unclench my teeth.

"I'll let you know in private." He closes the bag again. "And tell the FBI, we want this Mulder up here with the money in…" He checks his watch. "…two hours flat."

-------- -------- --------

The tapes have arrived. I sit down, put the pair of earphones on and switch on the recorder. All negotiations were taped, and though I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, I hope to find the key to the McIntyre's operation on these tapes. Somewhere. But I have to be honest to myself - even if I find something that Mike said, what would this hint change? Surely not Patterson's conclusion.

He comes back into the room, heaves a sigh and takes two bites of bread before the telephone rings again. He checks his watch and points to me to take the call while he's on the second line, listening. I can't help showing my frustration, but Patterson ignores me. I pick up the phone.

"Mulder."

"Right, the man I want." I can clearly imagine Mike smiling on the other side. "You got our money?"

"Not yet."

"I'm sure you will. And y'know what? You're the delivery boy."

"You don't wanna come fetch it yourself?" I snarl before thinking. Patterson's nostrils widen again. Fine. He'll truly make my day.

"No, G-man, it's your pleasure. In your… underwear. No place for a gun, y'know? No shoes, no socks, got it? Nothing more than you and the money and the other stuff we ordered."

"That's too much for one man. I'm no Hercules. I need…"

"Then start training! You got two hours." He hangs up.

Patterson does the same with more force than necessary.

"Is this your new way of negotiation?" He snaps at me. "Do you want to anger him? Make him kill a hostage because you pissed him off?" He steps closer. I put my hands on my hips and consider taking his accusations lying down. I see my reputation going down the drain before I'm even able to gain one. Now Patterson will tell anyone who takes me in his team that I'm hot-headed and unable to stick to the rules. "The life of a senator, his family and his assistants are at stake, and you ask him stupid questions!"

"It was only one." I look up again. "What do you want me to do? Bring up the stuff or send one of the special squad team?"

He lifts his eyebrows, considers the situation.

"You take it. He might recognize you from your voice. And you have profiled them. You might be able to give us useful information." He smacks his lips, goes back to his coffee mug. "We'll equip you with a small mic and listening device in your ear. It can't be seen from the outside." With the mug in his hand he breathes deeply. "Get me Hastings," he orders the young assistant, and she rushes out. "Maybe there's more we can do."

I'm the one who might be able to solve the hostage-taking situation without anybody being harmed.

Me.

I can't think. I order my brain to work, but nothing productive comes out. I have only been here several months, and now I shall deliver a bag full of ransom and… myself to a pair of hostage-takers. Maybe not a real delivery. Maybe they take the money and throw me out again, but I don't believe it. I shouldn't be afraid, though. After all, this is part of my job, but I can't calm my heart down or convince myself that this will be over in a few hours. My memory is very accurate in telling me that they have killed five guards during their robberies and didn't show mercy to their other victims. That no one else died was not because of their consideration. Now I take my life in my hands. I can't bail out. No assurances. No security.

My palms are damp. I force myself to sit down on the edge of a table when Hastings enters. Patterson explains the situation, and Hastings glances at meas ifI would never be ready to roll.

"So you're the big enchilada then, hm?" He nods in my direction. "Okay, let's see what we can do for you." He weighs his head and steps closer. "Listening device is fine, but it doesn't give you any chance of defense. My man who brought the tray said this Mr. Stanley wasn't handcuffed, but from experience I'd say that they can't control the hostages without binding their hands - at least. He had no chance seeing the others. Would you dare to take a small knife with you? It's up to you. I don't know if they're gonna search you." I nod. If I'm going into the lion's den I better do it prepared. "Fine. I'm gonna get you one. And me and my men have made up a plan for this situation."

"Tell me," Patterson says.

Hastings outlines the preparations, and when time's up I take my dress shirt, shoes, and pants off. I don't mind showing my boxers, but I'd have preferred another audience. Hastings fastens the small, flat knife with adhesive band in the middle of my back, right above the waistline. The T-shirt falls loosely over it so I might get away with it unnoticed. The brothers were never described as thorough searchers. Only quick at shooting. Isn't that comforting!

Patterson doesn't say a word, doesn't even give a hint about what he's thinking. He just stands there with crossed arms, and waits for me to get ready. I don't want to think that he's sacrificing me, but the thought is clearly on my mind. I'm the youngest here, and he doesn't risk anything by sending me up. And I was the one who spoiled his day with greenhorned assumptions. On the other hand, I know that Patterson is a professional who wouldn't do something like that as cheap revenge.

Well, I hope he wouldn't.

The assistant shows up again and hands me a piece of paper, not without checking the pattern of my boxers, and probably thinking about the contents. Bad timing.

"Police found another location with stolen cars. Convenient for a copter to land, too." She frowns, trying to look older and concerned. Well, maybe she is.

"Another distraction." I hand the sheet to Patterson.

"We'll check them both," he says, and tucks the piece of paper into his jacket pocket. "If they make it this far after all."

"It's unusual," I add. Patterson is already angry with me. I can't make it worse. "Normally they have one place and no other distraction in use." Patterson just purses his lips.

"We get them," Hastings says and at least he tries to cheer me up. "Just stick to what I told you. And don't try to be a hero. That's our job, okay?"

"Do I look like a job killer?"

"Nope." He finishes his work, grinning. "Sound check was okay?" I nod. "Fine. You hear us, and we hear you. So if it comes that we can't solve the situation right away, stay cool and let us know what it's like inside. We'll work something out. They won't get away with the copter, and they won't kill anybody."

It sounds convincing, but I'm far from being arrogant when I enter the floor. The cornflakes are crushed, but still make enough noise to announce me. My heart's in my throat, and the heavy load in both hands makes me sweat - at least I pretend it's just the weight. I cite all the reasons why I entered the FBI, forced myself through the training and finally made it to the BSU, as means to learn from the master, Patterson. Well, today's the day he drops me. I know it.

I use the edge of the suitcase to knock.

-------- --------


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The knock on the door is all we waited for. JD grabs the senator's daughter roughly by her hair and pulls her up. Her scream is truly heard outside. He grins and puts the muzzle of his weapon against her temple, right in the way to be seen when the door is open.

"No, leave her alone!" the senator shouts, but JD just kicks him in the shoulder, pulls the young woman away from him.

"You there!" I order the secretary. "Get up! Now!" My waving gun makes her get up. She stumbles forward. I think she might fall, but she stands in front of me with tears in her eyes. Oh, such a beauty - even now. "Go to the door!" I shove her, and she looks back, frightened like I would shoot her at any moment. No, honey, not now. "Wait!" I grab the senator's wife out of his protecting arms. She struggles, tries to wind herself out of my grip, shouting "No! No!" but it doesn't matter. I'm much stronger than she is. The more fear the better, I always say. Gin waits beside the door, ready to throw the bomb. He nods and we pull down the gas masks over our faces. "Open the door!" The secretary reaches out, unlocks the door and pulls it open, so I can see a man in his light blue boxers and white T-shirt. I almost giggle. He looks at me. Yep, we met before. I know it now. I saw his face on TV describing me and my bro's work. Very nice. "Step back!" I yell at the woman who dutifully retreats. The G-man holds a suitcase in his right hand, coats and other suitcases in the other. He breathes heavily. I think he fears me, but holds my gaze unwaveringly. Fine. The senator's wife sobs noisily, so I press the muzzle into her temple with force to shut her up.

"Let her go," G-man says, and he sounds astonished by our appearance. "Your money's here." He bends to drop it all, but I quickly shout,

"Get in here! On the double!"

"Okay - okay. Just two seconds," he says as if to soothe me. But his looks betray him. I can almost smell the air thicken. That's the moment Gin tosses the smoke bomb into the corridor.

-------- --------

'Two seconds' is the signal that both hostage-takers must hold one person each and are ready to shoot them. I expect a movement from the special squad or at least a short information what's going to happen. But then a small dazzling cylinder flies over the open door and explodes in thick grey smoke right behind me. I try to retreat, but in the same second a third man with a gas mask appears in the open door, points a gun to my face and pulls me in so quickly I trip over his outstretched foot and fall face down on the floor. Mike puts his boot in the small of my back, shouting,

"Stay down!"

The third man kicks the door shut, locks it so the smoke stays outside. I hear some shouts; the special squad will retreat and think about their options.

He takes off the mask. It's the not-so-really checked-out Mr. Herbert Stanley.

"Welcome to the show, Mr. Mulder." Mr. Stanley glances at Mike. Slowly, unwillingly he takes his boot away. "On your knees!" I leave my luggage on the floor and push myself up. Everything falls into place in one single second. I stare at Stanley who stares back. But while Mike enjoys the power he holds in his hands, Stanley seems to breathe it as naturally as the stuffy air in the room. He sticks the gun into his belt and tosses a pair of handcuffs to me. "Put 'em on." I glance at the other hostages. Their hands are bound with duct tape, and the people look frightened to death. "Quick! Do it!" Mike orders, and pushes the senator's wife back to her husband, who takes her into his arms. She sobs and buries her face in his chest for a moment. The senator looks at me as if I'm Superman and could kill the three hostage-takers by blowing frosted air into their faces. No, sorry, no such luck. I close the metal bands over my wrists. "Move over here! And don't get any ideas!" Mike waves with his gun. I walk on my knees to the desk, watching JD who still holds Janie with one arm around her throat, the muzzle of his gun pointed at her temple. She bites her lip, and tears flow freely down her cheeks. Her mother swallows hard. Having just escaped from the threat of being killed at once, she's scared shitless that her daughter might not be so lucky. JD looks like he's about to lose his marbles. He will be the first to kill someone. The stress is clearly shown in his face though he covers it with a broad grin. He should be the one taken care of and is reason number one to end this incident as soon as possible.

The hostages seem to be okay, and as far as I can see no one is hurt. But with a third man in command it will be harder to free the victims. I realize that the McIntyre brothers didn't plan this operation, at least they didn't do the preparation. And Mr. Stanley must be quite a wiseass to cheat himself into the senator's staff unnoticed. I don't believe that Mr. Moore is in this fraud, too. He might not be the wisest chief of security Burne could get, but he did his job. The question remains how Stanley could by-pass the checkout and how he got in touch with Mike and JD. He must have had better informants than the FBI did.

"Everything's fine outside?" Mike asks. Gin nods. Very self-confident. He puts the gas mask back on a bag close to one of the cupboards at the opposite wall. "Look what we've got." He tucks the gun away, quickly glances at his brother. "Let her go," he orders impatiently, and he follows suit, but gives Janie a rough punch on the back of her head. She cries out loud, stumbles to the floor.

"That wasn't necessary!" Senator Burne yells at JD who aims his gun at the old man.

"Bang! And you're dead!" Another wild grin. He blows air over the muzzle and enjoys doing this while the senator is as much frightened as he is angry.

"Leave 'em alone!" Mike orders while he kneels down in front of the suitcase. "Let's see if G-man brought what he was told."

"Wait!" Stanley - or the man who pretends to be Mr. Stanley - opens the black bag and takes out a device to check for metal parts or electricity or - whatever. He runs it over the suitcase before he allows Mike to open it, then quickly checks the others. I'm glad the FBI refrained from bugging the suitcases. That third man, who is yet unknown, is far more clever than the McIntyre bothers together. It's clear now who placed the detectors in the air-conditioning shafts.

The older McIntyre brother whistles loudly, and even JD is distracted for a second. I think of taking advantage of the moment, overthrowing JD and aiming his pistol at Mike and Stanley the Fake, but Stanley isn't distracted at all. "Don't move!" he shouts pointing his gun at me. Mike looks up to me, then to Stanley. But the money is far more interesting for him.

"Calm down, Mr. Stanley," I say, and hope the device in my ear is at least sending. I can't get any messages from Patterson or Hastings, so I suppose the device was broken during my fall. "You got what you three wanted. Why don't you just put on your coats and leave?"

Suddenly JD's in front of me.

"Shut up, you asshole! We do what we want," he explains, and stresses his statement with a fierceful blow to my head with the handle of his gun.

"Hey, JD, not now!" It's Mike, but his voice seems to come from afar. "Pull yourself together!" My head feels on fire, and when I sit up again, blood trickles down my left cheek, and my vision is blurred 'til I catch my breath again. I raise my hands to wipe it away, see smears of blood on my fingers and the steel rings around my wrists. 'Damn it! Damn him! Shit!' I look up to Mike's wiggling eyebrows. He likes what he sees though he called his brother to order. And JD plays with the gun like it's his best friend.

I profiled JD to be homosexual. He always treated the women worse than the men, and in some reports by hostages it is stated that Mike had called JD back from descending over a man. He should wait for another time, he was told. Well, I don't agree with my own written profile right now. My left eyebrow is split open. More blood follows, and my stomach turns around. Fine. Right what I need. Puke on the carpet!

-------- --------

JD delivers a blow to the FBI-man's head that almost knocks him out. Shit! I told him before he should wait 'til we are sure to get away! He can have his fun later. Now, I tell ya, I'm pissed off with his behavior, but more because Gin thinks of us now that we're idiots! We're professionals as I said before, but with acts like this we ruin our reputation. I know it. I can read Gin's face. He's very close to shouting at my brother that this was his last mistake. I smell his anger, see his grim face. Gin's arrogance is one thing, but I can handle it. What I can't handle is the gun in his belt. The FBI-man rests his back against the desk's solid front. He seems dizzy, but that's okay. I don't mind him being out for a moment, so he won't talk or try anything on us. Blood's on his T-shirt. Not bad, - thinking of what this blow did to the others in the room. After the shrieks they're all really quiet now. The senator clutches his wife and daughter, tries to give them shelter. The secretary and the young man who looks like a student with all his freckles over his pale face soothes her, but isn't any help, of course. We are in control of all of them. I check the other suitcases and raincoats. They are exactly like what we ordered. Nice service. And no bugs attached. Gin's one criminal of a kind! I'd never have thought about searching the suitcase for any spy things. Y'know, we changed the sacks of money when we robbed a bank, never took them with us. But Gin - he's really clever. Yeah, though I don't like his behavior he's smarter than me. Well, my job is robbing banks, y'know. Not taking hostages and that ransom stuff and so on. - No, I don't think that I made a wrong decision, joining with Gin in this crime. He's hard to handle and doesn't say much, but up to now he played to the rules.

JD walks up to me.

"When'll we get outta here?" he whispers, still keeping an eye on the people on the floor. I know if they move without his allowance he's the first one to shoot.

"Cool, bro, just takes an hour or so. We wait for the copter." I check my watch. "Will be here in a short while. We should hear it come."

"Who're we gonna take with us?" His voice is no more than a hoarse whisper now, but his looks concentrate on the G-man. I see his Adam's Apple jump up and down.

"Three."

"Burne and family?" I see his face drop.

"Who else?" He swallows his disappointment, so I add very low so that only he can hear it, "I told ya not to think of it when we're on a job, 'kay?" He nods, but licks his lips. I can almost hear his heartbeat. It was a good idea to let the FBI Agent come up with nothing but his boxers and T-shirt, but I hadn't thought about my bro's wild imagination. I've lit up a fire I have to control now. Above all the trouble with Gin and his strangeness and the stress with getting to the copter and the escape place. I feel as if I'm on a carousel that I can't make turn any slower.

-------- -------- --------

My sight is clear again. The senator's wife eyes me, mouths if I'm okay, and I give a nod. Her face asks if there is a plan to rescue us. I can't answer. JD and Mac look at me, just waiting for me to give the plans of the SWAT team away.

"The helicopter should be here right now," Mr. Stanley the Fake says, glancing at his watch. His gaze travels from the closed curtains to me. "Is there a reason for the delay, Mr. Mulder?"

"I don't know of any delay." My voice sounds harsh. I'm still trying to figure out why the SWAT team didn't move in. It was risky, but it should have worked. Now they have to change to Plan B. Hastings said he'd never do a step without a second plan, and I hope it works out.

"So you don't." He nods his self-confident nod that makes me shiver with uneasiness. Players 1 and 2 are clear, but Player 3 is still unknown. I don't know what to expect from him. I only recognize how decent Mac and JD talk to him. He's the big enchilada. And this time the McIntyres are just servants to the success. What does that mean that they chose to work with a third man? Will the Fake order the killing of the senator after getting away with the money? Why didn't Mac and JD simply rob a bigger bank?

"Hey, have you been at the employment exchange searching for a new job, Mac? And you came up with this filthy guy?"

"Shut up!" Mr. Stanley shouts, but regains his reserved composure a second later. Now that's interesting. Mac shoots an angry look at me, but that's not as important as Mr. Stanley's short outburst of anger. Until now he had only watched. Then JD hits me, and he doesn't seem to agree with that. "Call them again," he orders Mac, who smacks his lips. "I want this helicopter over here in ten minutes, or the first hostage dies." He says it matter-of-factly, and I bet my year's income he'll pull the trigger on anyone, without remorse.

-------- --------

Gin's clear about it. I dial, and an older man is on the line.

"It's Patterson with the FBI," he says. "I want to talk to my agent."

"The helicopter lands on the roof in ten minutes, or the first hostage dies. And this might be your very agent," I add.

"You got what you wanted. Now you show some cooperation and release the women. Then the helicopter lands."

This really pisses me off!

"You do what we say, got it?" I scream. "You know we won't negotiate! You know we won't release a goddamned paper clip before we want to! Ten Minutes, wiseass, or sent the man with the black plastic sack to collect the dead body!" I throw down the receiver, turn around to Gin, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Done."

"Not the agent." Gin shakes his head, and I want to start an argument about it when he adds, "Miss Robertson." She gives a whining "Nooo…", and clings to the freckled man beside her who looks even more frightened. He probably knows that my choice would be him.

"Hey, listen, no good idea," I object in, - as I think, - a mild tone, "she might be worth a…", but he shuts me off.

"I said Miss Robertson", he repeats in his no-nonsense voice. I swallow my next remark. Fine. Would have been nice to have a little fun with her, but there are other sluts who want to be taken when we get out of here. When we will finally be out of here. I can clearly see JD's face and know that for him these hours are like days. Gin checks his watch. "Eight minutes. We do it right away."

"Okay."

"Let the women go," the FBI-man says in a calm voice. "You don't need them. You can't take all the hostages with you, right? That's not your plan."

Gin eyes him. It's like they're checking each other out, like knowing who's got the bigger balls, y'know? Neither of them are wavering. They want to know who's in charge. Well, no question who, but that Mulder really defies Gin. Finally there's some motion in his face I haven't seen before.

"I haven't asked for your comment or opinion, Mr. Mulder," Gin declares, like he's talking to a business partner, "and I don't think I will on this subject. I'd prefer you to tell me what the FBI is planning for the moment we leave the building."

"Have you already forgotten," the G-man asks back and lifts his cuffed hands, "that you ordered me up here? How should I know what they do downstairs, hm?"

Gin smirks.

"Oh, I know the planning, mister, believe me. So would you to tell me about it or would you prefer to watch Miss Robertson die first?"

"No, I don't want to watch anyone die," he says and tries to remain calm though he's sweating with fear. I like that. He knows we will kill anybody to make sure the police follows our orders. "Hey, Mac, how's that? - Have you planned to work with this liar? Or did JD find him in some junkyard?"

"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at him and wave my gun, but at the same moment I see in his eyes that he's just playing with me.

I think about what else I could do to keep Stanley the Fake and the MycIntyre brothers from killing the secretary. She sits a few feet away, locking eyes with me in a desperate attempt to find hope in my presence. I know there should be more I could do, but I don't even know if my microphone is still working.

"There's no need to kill anybody, Mr. Stanley," I repeat, but I don't think I can buy time with that strategy. Stanley glimpses at his watch. It's a challenging gesture, and it's meant for me. I shall tell him the plan, but after Plan A failed I'm not sure what Plan B looks like. I have to warn the FBI that it's a trio, not just a duo. That would influence their planning. But how should I do it? They won't let me go because of my juvenile grin. And I'm not grinning at the moment. "The helicopter will be here in a few minutes. It was already ordered before I left."

Stanley looks down, then up again, and that grin is still present.

"We'll see that in five minutes."

I run out of options. And I'm sure he'll kill the secretary anyway. Maybe he's just interested in my reaction. Another strategy is needed.

"Did you work for the FBI, Mr. Stanley? You look like you know more of our mode of operation than your not –very-bright partners."

He glances at me, drinks a sip of water and clears his throat while JD kills me with a look and waves his gun. He's about to get closer when Mike shakes his head no.

JD and Mike look at their partner. He probably told them nothing about himself, just watered their mouths with the amount of money they'd gain with this hostage-taking.

"Did you?" Mike inquires. Mr. Stanley puts down his paper cup and swallows, glances at his watch and completely ignores the question.

"If you did you know that the FBI will bargain though they don't do it officially," I continue. "If you release the women as a sign of good will they might let you get away with the money."

The Fake allows himself a small smile.

"Mr. Mulder. If you say something or stay quiet, or recite the Bible, or the Koran I don't mind, and it won't change my modus operandi. I refined this operation and will stick to every line of it. In three minutes the first hostage dies, and it will be Miss Robertson if the helicopter isn't reported to have landed on the roof top."

-------- --------


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I see him sweat. Oh, yeah, that Mulder guy is desperately looking for a hole in the trap. I can't say if he just wants to save himself or the others, too, but he wants to live. That's for sure. He's looking for another idea to talk Gin out of our plan. I almost grin. Gin won't bargain. I liked the way he said that about the Bible and that other book. Guess it's a book, right? Yeah, I knew it. Well, I'm quite clever though I can't talk like Gin.

I watch the G-man again. JD does as well, but with different intentions. He can't forget that he was called stupid. He doesn't like that. He'd beat him to pulp if he was allowed to. There'll be a time. I don't think that I can talk him out of taking Mulder with us. I sigh inwardly. What did I do by ordering the agent up? Should probably have been the old man I had on the phone later on.

"You might have planned this meticulously, Mr. Stanley, but why did you waste your geniality on two stupid robbers who'll just make mishief?" And when Gin ignores him again he adds, "The only plausible reason is that you don't intend to pay them in full, right? You made your own preparations, didn't tell the brothers ten per cent of it and you'll try to get away with the money alone." The G-man shrugs. "That's okay. I'd do it the same way if I were you. Why should you throw pearls before swines?"

I swallow hard on this comment, and while JD can't hold himself I glare at Gin to get the sentiment of what he'd say about it. But he's only checking his watch.

"Did you make your own plans?" I demand to know.

"Did he tell you that there's a different site to change transportation?" The agent adds matter-of-factly.

Gin doesn't react as I think he should. JD in contrast does what's his nature. He grabs the agent by his hair, pulls him back and screams in his face,

"What else do ya know, asshole? Tell me! Now!" He hammers the muzzle of his pistol at Mulder's chin. The G-man clutches JD's wrist with his bound hands, trying to tear away the weapon from his face. He sweats even more, struggling to end the threat.

"Leave him alone," Gin orders from behind in an absolute normal tone. Nothing seems to upset him. "It's time." But JD's too deep in his anger and frustration that the agent might be right. Gin looks at me with lifted eyebrows as if I have to stop the kid. And I can't help thinking about the words of the FBI man. Is Gin using us? Has he got a second plan to escape from the hotel?

"JD, leave him alone." I know he won't hear me. I repeat it louder. He doesn't want to hear me. They wrestle with each other. The agent holds tight to JD's left hand with the gun, tying to get it away from his face, turn it against my brother. He's strong. Much stronger than JD would admit.

"Get away from him!" I shout and step closer to grab my brother. He's not concentrated and too irrational to think about what he's doing right now. Gin doesn't want the G-man to be killed.

But it's not him who's in danger.

Mulder clenches his teeth, turns the weapon with all his strength, almost breaks JD's wrist. My brother screams in pain.

Suddenly the senator leaps at my legs.

The telephone rings.

I stumble and fall flat to the floor, no time to get my pistol out of my pants where I tucked it. Damn! Shit! The senator holds fast. I don't even know how he got at me!

Mulder struggles with the weapon, gets hold of it, pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the ceiling lamp.

Still screaming, JD slams him hard in his face. Must hurt. Same eyebrow as before. Blood again. Mulder screams.

Glass splinters rain on the floor.

"Knock him out!" I bark, trying to reach my pistol. To get rid of the old man hanging at my legs, I try to kick at him, try to turn around to smash his face. Is he crazy?! "Now!"

JD punches Mulder again. He can't dodge anymore. His hands lose the grip on the pistol.

The telephone still rings.

Gin points his gun at the senator.

"Let him go, or you die first."

The senator backs away. He breathes heavily, swallows hard, and his look gives away that he thinks of himself as very courageous. His wife and daughter don't share his pride, but tear him away from me.

The telephone still rings in an unnerving loudness.

I stand up, turn on my heels to hit the face of the old man. He grimaces in pain, but I know I'm the one who lost. I had a weak moment. And he'll remember that. As well as Gin. I'm infuriated.

"Don't ever try that again!" I scream, then turn to face my brother. He hovers over the unconscious agent, swallows, points the weapon at his closed eyes, ready to pull the trigger.

"I kill ya, asshole! I told ya!"

"No, JD, don't!" I order him and step over to take his arm.

"He'd have broken my wrist!" JD shouts in a high-pitched tone that sounds so insecure, more like a frightened boy. It's his luck he's not alone, and the FBI man is out cold for the moment. He lies on his right side. Blood spills over his cheek and chin. I don't mind the injury. He wanted to kill my brother! And if it wasn't for the rules I'd have gladly emptied the whole 15 bullets of my weapon into his body.

"Right, but he didn't. You're OK. Get back. Watch the others."

"'Kay." Shaking with rage he lifts the weapon and walks back to his place near the other side of the desk. I catch Gin's look. It's not only that he thinks of JD as a brick short of a load, y'know, there's more to it.

Disdain.

I hate that look.

"Call 'em," Gin orders me, and I think about a remark, but decide to wait until we're out if here. I'll watch him very closely from now on. He won't dump my brother or me!

"Right." I pick up the phone and dial the number of the lobby. Again it's Patterson. "The helicopter has landed?" I ask and find my voice calm and controlled though there are thoughts running through my mind which have nothing to do with that damned helicopter.

"We already tried to inform you," Patterson says. "You didn't pick up the phone. I hope the hostages are all right?"

"Yeah, fine. So clear the way, keep the engine running. And take your dogs out of our way, or we'll kill a hostage for every man we see. Got that?"

"Sure." But isn't there a hint in his voice that he doesn't believe me?

"I mean it. You know that. We always get away. Won't be different this time." I want to add something more to make sure he gets the point, but Gin disconnects the call. "Hey, don't you ever do that again," I snarl. JD massages his wrist, but is on alert. We can still kill Gin and get away alone. Why should we trust a man we don't know and who plans to dump us the moment we are out of the woods?

"Wake up, Mulder. We need to know what they're up to." We stare at each other. From the corner of my eye I see JD watch us with the gun in his right hand. He won't be as precise as with his left, but on the short distance it won't matter. "Now."

"Don't try to push me around, Gin", I threaten, but his face remains blank. He doesn't even twitch. It's like he expected everything we do. I turn and take a big cup of water to pour it on the agent's face. It washes the blood away, too, and he stirs. Moans. Yes, this surely hurts like hell, and I do not begrudge a second of it. "Wake up!" I take his chin between thumb and index finger and shake him. He opens his eyes, and I let go. "It's time you tell us what the SWAT team out there has in mind." He looks awful. I don't know if his mind has awakened, too. Maybe JD hit him too hard, and he won't be any use to us any more. Well, though JD would object he'd be a victim to discharge. "Come on, asshole, spit it out!"

He spits dried blood.

"I said I don't know. Didn't change while I was knocked out."

Gin suddenly pulls Miss Robertson from her place, tears at her hair. His face is grim, determined. I know what'll follow. The G-man knows it, too.

"I said I don't know!" he repeats louder, but not more convincingly for Gin. He points his weapon against her temple. She screams. He presses harder.

"Shut up!" he orders her. She sobs, presses her lips tight. "You better confess now, or she dies," Gin says and takes off the safety.

"They'll wait for you on the roof," Mulder gives in. "They won't let you get away."

"They have orders to shoot on sight?"

Reluctantly the FBI man nods,

"Yes. You showed no co-operation, so the order is to shoot you when the sight is clear."

Gin still holds firmly to the hair of the woman. It's moving in his face. He's frowning, still thinking what to do. Waste a hostage to make him say more? I can't tell what's behind his stern face. Suddenly he twitches, pushes the woman against the hotel room door and shoots her in the back of her head.

The senator's wife and daughter scream, turn away from the woman on the floor. The telephone rings again. The young man who looks like a student murmurs, "Oh, God!"

Gin stares at the dead woman for a second then turns to Mulder again, ignores the pleas of the student, the words of the senator and the loud crying of the wife and the daughter.

"It's a grave mistake, Mr. Mulder, to place them on one level with me. I am not stupid." There he goes again. I don't know if I can still take this lying down. He gets closer. The crying from the women is annoying in its loudness. It's ripping up my nerves. "JD, watch the others." Another step to Mulder. The agent glares at him.

"I told you the truth," he points out, but Gin sneers,

"Yeah, right. They'd shoot a senator, his wife and daughter. What would your commander say about that? Do you think he'd stay in his job a day longer? A week maybe?" He squats in front of the agent, narrowing his eyes. "No, he wouldn't. So, Mr. Mulder, no one will shoot us on the roof top. What's the plan? Let me know. One hostage is dead. Do you want to watch my determination by shooting a second one? Or injuring you? Maybe this is much more efficient."

"You won't get another answer," the agent replies, coughing. They eye each other.

"The 'copter's waiting," I remind him. "We take the senator's family and get out. Pure and simple. As planned," I stress, but he just purses his lips.

"He knows where they wait. - Tell me, Agent Mulder, or this will be a long day for you. One you'll never forget."

The agent wets his lips.

"I already won't forget this. You killed four people! If I could I'd send you to death row for this!"

"Naw, you won't. Let me assure you that we will get away as planned." He doesn't look at me when he says this, and my anger rises again. What happens when I kill Gin? Does he have an ace up his sleeve that will prevent us from leaving here without him? Has he got more technical equipment than he has shown to us so far?

"Every policeman in the country will search for you. We already found your escape cars. There are not many places where the copter can land. We checked them all. So, even if you take off from here you're still on the radar. Either the FBI or the police catches you and your… friends." Now the G-man looks at me mockingly. "Or would Mr. McIntyre prefer another definition?"

"Watch your mouth," I growl.

Gin has played with his .9mm the whole time. Now, in a fluent motion, he aims it at the G-man's left upper arm and pulls the trigger. The bullet hammers right through his flesh and cracks the wood of the desk behind him. Mulder cries out, tries to rise his right hand to the wound, but can't. He muffles himself by clenching his teeth. Squints his eyes shut. Breathes heavily.

Me too.

I don't understand what Gin does. Why he does it. We have the hostages. We can leave with them. Hooded. They will all wear raincoats. No one will know who is who. We'll reach that damned waiting helicopter just in time to fly away with all the money. So much money! Still lying there in two suitcases.

"Why…," I stammer out, "why'd you do this? We can…"

"Shut up!" Gin says with a voice that demands immediate respect. "Now, Mr. Mulder, would you like to revise your decision again and tell me what I want to know?"

"I don't know what they're up to," Mulder presses between his teeth. "You can blow me to pieces, but the answer's still the same."

Gin stares at him, then rises.

"You're playing clever, smartass, but that won't save you or any other."

What the heck does he mean by that?

----------

The fake Mr. Stanley turns away from me. I wonder if I would have told him the truth, too, if I had known what the SWAT team was up to. Could I have resisted? Tried to lie to him? Gin looks like a man in control in every situation. He doesn't need the brothers more than a rich man needs a butler. If he gets away with the helicopter he'll kill Mike and JD at the next available location. I don't know if they know this, too, but Mike seems to realize that his partner is colder than arctic ice.

I try to sit up again. I've never had such a headache before, but it will feel like a warm breath of air when the numbness in my arm decreases. Blood oozes out of the wound with every heartbeat, and my left hand is cold. The senator looks at me, demanding to know if I can still be of any help. He holds tight to his wife and daughter. My glance falls upon the dead woman on the floor. I know it's not my fault she died, but that doesn't console me. I failed to help the hostages. I'm only one more victim with no idea how to end the situation peacefully.

Mike throws the raincoats at the men and women on the floor.

"Put 'em on!"

JD takes one, puts it on, then steps closer to me with another one.

"Get up!" he orders harshly. And when I don't react at once, "Hurry, asshole, get up, or I'll make you get up!"

I take a deep breath. The Fake watches the hostages put on the coats, but he glances at JD and me.

"He won't go with us," he says flatly.

JD turns around, pulling the weapon and pointing it directly at the well-dressed man.

"He will!" he shouts.

The same moment Mr. Stanley draws his Smith&Wesson and shoots the young man in his chest.

"No!" Mike cries out. JD's legs give way. He stumbles to the floor, falls face down with an expression of surprise and disbelief. "No! JD! No!" Mike rushes to him, kneels beside him, turns his brother on his back. "JD! Can you hear me? Oh, God, please, no!" He presses his hands over the wound to stop the bleeding. It's clear to see that the young man will die if he stays here. Mike turns to Mr. Stanley. "Why, Gin, why? He's my brother! Not a fucking hostage you can play with!"

"He wanted to shoot me," the false Mr. Stanley answers, and orders the hostages to stand up. "Leave him and join us, or stay here and wait for the police."

"He'll die if we don't take him to a hospital!"

"He'll die anyway." Mr. Stanley points his gun at me. "And we won't leave behind any witnesses, right?"

I exhale. Look straight into the muzzle, into Stanley's eyes. He isn't hesitating because he is reflecting if it is right to kill me. He's just enjoying the moment of my defeat.

The door breaks open. The row is deafening. Two members of the SWAT team with black suits and helmets jump in with drawn guns. Stanley turns around, aims, but is too slow. He dies on the spot with two bullets in his chest. Mike raises his arms, drops the gun, and is flattened to the floor within seconds. Three more men run into the room, check the situation, and then take off their helmets.

"Sir, are you okay?" I see the young but earnest face above me, and though I don't feel like it, I smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

----------

Two days later I'm released from hospital and make my way back to my superior's office. His young secretary notices my arm in the sling and the stitched-up wound at my eyebrow, and smiles sympathetically.

"He's waiting for you," she says with an even broader smile. I enter the office and find Hastings sitting in front of the desk.

"Hey, good to see you," he says and hardly refrains from slapping my shoulder. "Sorry. You look much better. Do you remember that you fainted on the way downstairs? - No, probably not. You're really roughed up, kid."

I don't like to be reminded, but he doesn't notice. He's happy that only one hostage was killed instead of all of them. Patterson doesn't shake hands, and asks me to sit down while he looks through the reports on the case. Then the master himself takes the time to report the details I lack.

"I realized within a minute that you couldn't hear us anymore, but we could still hear you." He corrects his glasses and glances at me. "As long as the McIntyres were too far away and the fake Mr. Stanley, too, it was impossible to get in without risking the lives of the hostages - as you'll understand, Agent Mulder." Sure, yes, I understand. The McIntyres or Stanley might have killed everybody, but sure the team couldn't move in. "It was good that you informed us about the third party involved. Mr. Stanley's real name is Garrett. Brandon Garrett. He was a Secret Service member until, three years ago, he ran amok and killed two civilians in a gunfight with an assassin. He was dismissed, but no charges were pressed against him after an internal investigation. Obviously he used his knowledge in other kidnappings before." He drops the sheet of paper and looks up again. "We listened carefully to the happenings and decided to wait for noise from within to sweep the cornflakes. After that the team could place explosives at the door to break it open." He takes off the glasses. "The senator's family and the student were treated for shock and abrasions at a hospital, and he told me to relate his thankfulness to you.- And we have to thank you, too, Agent Mulder for your sensible handling of the situation."

Not a word that I was right about the McIntyre brothers, - that the idea of a hostage-taking wasn't theirs alone. And that they'd have reacted differently when they'd been alone.

I don't know what to reply. I nod and take the compliment without an argument. Patterson was wrong, and I take it as a note on my desk that he's not without fault.

"Agent Mulder? - Due to your injury you'll be on leave until next week. I expect you back on Monday the fifteenth." He only has to add 'Dismissed', but I get the message and rise. Hastings rises, too, and we both leave the office.

"You did a great job," the team leader assures me. I lift my eyebrows in disbelief. "Yeah, you did. Don't ya know, he never lets anyone go without telling him the flaws in his action. You're the first!" And he can't help slapping my shoulder.

-----------

Now you know the whole story. What do ya think? I lost my brother, got caught… Well, it wasn't my fault, y'know? If he'd have run to the plan we'd all be out of the woods within six hours. Gin messed it up! He killed my brother! Got another cigarette? -- Thanks. No, I don't even know who he was or what he did before, but I can tell ya that I won't believe any more 'recommendations', that's for sure.

You think you can use this in your article? Yeah, I know I'm not the wizard of hostage-taking, but remember - we killed no hostage. It was Gin - or whatever his name was. Not me. Not my brother.

Do you send me a copy of your magazine? I hope you do. We can't get them here on time, y'know. And I don't want to wait until one of the guards drops it in a wastepaper bin, okay? And spell my name right! It's Irish. And bring a beer next time!

THE END


End file.
